


Six Musicals Never Produced in New Burbage

by Petra



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: Gen, Reviews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-19
Updated: 2008-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:00:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mandate of the New Burbage Festival is to present Canadian culture &c. This is all well and good until one allows certain directors into the theatre, or, in some cases, the town limits. Presented in order of publication.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Musicals Never Produced in New Burbage

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://likethesun2.livejournal.com/profile)[**likethesun2**](http://likethesun2.livejournal.com/). Thanks to Carla and Sage for listening and pointing me in the right direction, respectively.

**West Side Story, 90 Degrees Off**  
  
New Burbage, Ontario: The current musical production from the New Burbage Festival is a bold directorial choice by Darren Nichols on many levels, including the bilingual demands of the cast, the reworking of the classic libretto, and the complete dearth of dancing. For fans of  West Side Story, La Rive du Sud will be familiar yet challenging. Bring the children along for a language immersion experience that will leave them whistling "Gendarme Krupké" on the way out of the theatre. The translation of the action and songs from New York City to Ottawa produces a dizzying and sometimes innovative effect.  
  
The cast, though composed mainly of newcomers to the New Burbage stage, carries the plot through with the conflicted adolescent joy needed for this retread of Romeo and Juliet. Théo, more traditionally known as Tony, is played soulfully by James Heimel with a thick Montréal accent in every line he speaks, whether he is singing en Quebeçois or English. His beloved, Stacy Jones as the monolingual Maria, has a sweetness that would not be out of place on the main festival stage. Their voices twine together to create something greater than either separately.  
  
Anita, now a headstrong American emigrée, is fervidly portrayed by Teresa Hines; her xenophobic "A Boy Like That" is exceedingly chilling as one of the few songs left in English. The rest of the supporting cast is strong, though the demands on them are mainly lingual rather than physical.  
  
There are some surprises even for the most die-hard musical buff; the replacement of all of the dancing with less-than-stylized brawling may be hard for some to take, though the director has mercifully foregone his normal urges to use lakes of stage blood.  
  
Above all, if you have any desire to see this show, book your tickets now: there are rumors of an impending lawsuit from a firm representing the interests of Bernstein, Sondheim, et al., and it may not be available for long.  
  
\- Basil Cruikshank  
  
---  
  
 

 

**I Think Method I Can**  
  
[Ed. Our regular theatre columnist is indisposed; this column was submitted by a reader under a nom de plume.]  
  
New Burbage, Ontario: The transplantation of  The Music Man to Newfoundland from its native Iowan soil is a crime against theatre, committed solely to permit slurs against Newfoundlanders. The story is maudlin at best, the music tepid at worst, its proudest moments further undermined by the director's unforgivable choice to force the familiar "Seventy-Six Trombones" into waltz time and its parallel song, "Goodnight, My Someone" into the form of a march.  
  
The child actors steal the show due to the adults' patent -- and justified -- apathy with their material. The lisping delivery of "Thompson, Manitoba" (née "Gary, Indiana") by Victor Chandler, 10, is the only moment of artistic integrity in the production. Kudos to him, and to the other young performers.  
  
The adult actors' disaffection and disdain for their material could have been avoided had New Burbage hired musical theatre specialists for this show. The choice to use contracted actors from the Shakespearean stage sucks all life and hope from this production, as well as putting a terrible drain on the true focus of the festival. The normally incandescent Geoffrey Tennant's Harold Hill is a failed huckster who could not charm a penny out of a priest, and his "Trouble in River City," which should be the triumphant seduction of a township, is instead the overworked spiel of a worn-out con man. The less said about Ellen Fanshaw's harridan spinster Marian the Librarian, the better. She is far too canny for an ingénue so blasé, and her failure to see through Tennant's pathetic attempts at lies destroys all the audience's desire to believe in the show.  
  
The brightest hope for this production is that it will close early and permit its cast to spend more time working on shows that utilize their great and neglected talents.  
  
\- "Citizen Kane"  
  
---  
  
 

 

**Doe, a Deer, a Male Deer?**  
  
New Burbage, Ontario: The homoeroticism on the posters for the current production of  The Sound of Music serves as a fair indicator of its content. The director's decision to use a nearly all-male cast lends a different note to this story of Nazi persecution, and for those who have seen the movie, the more ubiquitous swastikas and pink triangles may be visually distracting at first.  
  
Peter Goldman is a fascinating blend of wholesome and viscerally disturbing as "Mario," whose manner with children is endearing by day and potentially threatening by night. His costuming in perennial clerical collars underscores the subtle threat of misconduct, though his character seems almost entirely unaware of the implications of a bedful of tots.  
  
Hugo Montoya's Captain von Trapp is oddly frail for a man in his position; this lends credence to his need for a tutor for his children and the rapidity with which he becomes enamored of that tutor.  
  
The cleverest twist of the casting comes with the subversion of "Sixteen Going On Seventeen," which is transformed from a facile, condescending display of male chauvinism into a scene that would not be out of place in a production of Cabaret, showing the decadence of pre-war Berlin as well as Austria. Kevin Stevenson shines as a Liza Minnelli-esque pastiche, and his Nazi Youth lover, portrayed by François Lafontaine, brings a menace and wistfulness to the show.  
  
Harriet Williamson's Baroness, the only female in the production, is drowned by her own costuming; she is clearly playing a drag queen, and it detracts from her lovely voice.  
  
Overall, the production positively portrays various lifestyles that the villains of the piece would have found atrocious; Darren Nichols has finally found an outlet for his time spent in Germany that does not offend the senses unduly.  
  
\- Basil Cruikshank  
  
---  
  
 

 

**Kiss Me, I'm Jewish**  
  
Darren Nichols' current presentation of William Finn's  Falsettos suffers from dance numbers galore, each of which drags down the story. However, the buoyancy of the musical itself is enough to carry this audience member through the evening, despite the overdependence on glittery top-hats and kick lines with no discernible relationship to the plot. It is a testament to the strength of the avant garde score and the well-drawn characters that the chorus numbers do not destroy this through-sung story.  
  
One cannot help but be fond of Damon Shaw's Marvin, despite his obvious and glaring flaws. He is, to borrow a phrase from the culture that grounds Falsettos, aspiring to be a mensch, but he fails, as do all men. Would that all men failed in such a glorious tenor -- not oversold, as this is not opera.  
  
Marvin's lovers, sung and acted with verve by Joseph Stein and Rachel Ward, are all one could want in their respective roles.  
  
The young Christian Wright is an able Jason who holds his own with the adult stars, and the second act additions of Jane Burns and Susan Glen are comfortably married and well-balanced.  
  
Nichols' choice to cast himself as the underhanded psychiatrist is one that only pays off for this reviewer when he is swept up in a Busby Berkeley-esque number that overwhelms his own underwhelming singing.  
  
If the stage were to open and suck in the entire chorus, feathers and all, only their families would regret the loss. The dancing is well-executed but distracting, and with the libretto, the overall effect is of a soliloquy with swirling psychedelic lighting effects. We were all attempting to forget that stab at Hamlet, Mr. Nichols; kindly refrain from reminding us anew.  
  
\- Basil Cruikshank  
  
---  
  
 

**Superstar? Jesus Christ!**

As Geoffrey Tennant's Hamlet is considered the defining benchmark for his generation, so Jack Harkness's star turn in Jesus Christ Superstar will be, this reviewer predicts, the guiding light of a sort for its own generation. Faithful attendees of the New Burbage festival may well liken this staging to the Macbeth of seasons past; however, they are simply blinded by the single superficial detail the two productions share. They are not comparable in quality, save to say that Macbeth was a work of stark genius and Jesus Christ Superstar is a work of overblown madness best experienced under the influence of something stronger than Andrew Lloyd Webber's ever-flaccid score. 

That the director, Darren Nichols, has found a way to put too much crucifixion imagery into this show speaks to his particular genius for taking promising material and blowing it up until it has no more reality than a Roy Lichtenstein painting. Truly he has found his quintessential leading man in Harkness, whose charms, such as they are, must be palpable from the highest seats. From anywhere closer, they burn in a manner similar to the plethora of pyrotechnics, none of which symbolize the might or power of God. 

Mary Magdalene, often the saving grace of Jesus Christ Superstar, is overshadowed here not merely by her personal Lord and Savior, who hardly lets her get a note in edgewise, but by her costuming. This reviewer found her bare breasts distasteful and implausible, given the setting of the production. Yvette Stearn's voice is strong enough that she will surely find employment elsewhere, hopefully in a place where she is not asked to compete with fireworks and lasers spelling out "Jesus" while she sings.

This is not a show for children or adults, unless you are either one of those people who inflicted 'The Passion of the Christ' upon your children or someone with a great affection for explosions. Everyone who falls into neither category would be well-advised to keep their distance from this production in order to spare their hearing, both from the pyrotechnics and from Jesus. 

\- Basil Cruikshank  
  
  
---  
  
 

**R[ocky] H[orror] P[icture] S[how] - NOTES [October, 1994]**  
  
Geoffrey: Sing _out,_ Louise.  
  
Antici-- --pation -- better, better, could be best. Keep trying. One Night Only.  
  
Slap Rocky's ass with a little more zest. Frank swings every way, but that's his dream boy, Tennant. GO with it.  
  
And don't be such a damned chicken in the pool scene, either; we're all here to see you.  
  
Ellen: Keep the innocence just a little longer -- yes, it's a den of sluttishness, but no making out until Transylvania takes _over,_ sweetie.  
  
Steve: You look terrified, darling asshole. USE THAT.  
  
Myself: Excellent, as always. Could use a bit more baby oil. Must shave immediately prior to show, will peroxide self thoroughly. My faux Aryan glory will outshine the film.  
  
Oliver, Oliver, Oliver: Your triumphant return to the boards could be slightly stuffier, honestly. No groping Steve when he's not looking -- to say nothing of our Frankie. Be a more horrified Doctor. That's why we call it Acting, meine Liebe.  
  
Brian: You embody the man who has no neck. Couldn't be more brilliant if you _tried._  
  
Rest of the cast: Don't dream it, _be_ it.  
  
(from the collected papers of D. Nichols, pub. 2010, Quarto Press, New Burbage)  
  
---


End file.
